Liza had a separate little room, on the second story of her mother's
house, small, clean, bright, with a white bed, pots of flowers in the
corners and in front of the holy pictures, with a tiny writing-table, a
case of books, and a crucifix on the wall. This little chamber was called
the nursery; Liza had been born in it. On returning to it from church,
where she had seen Lavretzky, she put everything in order, even more
carefully than usual, wiped the dust off everything, looked over and tied
up with ribbons her note-books and the letters of her friends, locked all
the drawers, watered the plants, and touched every flower with her hand.
She did all this without haste, without noise, with a certain touched and
tranquil solicitude on her face. She halted, at last, in the middle of
the room, slowly looked around her, and stepping up to the table over
which hung the crucifix, she knelt down, laid her head on her clasped
hands, and remained motionless.
Marfa Timofeevna entered, and found her in this position. Liza did not
notice her entrance. The old woman went outside the door, on tiptoe, and
gave vent to several loud coughs. Liza rose quickly to her feet, and
wiped her eyes, in which glittered clear tears which had not fallen.
"I see that thou hast been arranging thy little cell again,"--said Marfa
Timofeevna, and bent low over a pot containing a young rose-bush:--"what
a splendid perfume it has!"
Liza gazed thoughtfully at her aunt.
"What a word you have uttered!"--she whispered.
"What sort of a word, what word?"--interposed the old woman,
vivaciously;--"what dost thou mean?--This is dreadful,"--she said,
suddenly tearing off her cap, and seating herself on Liza's bed:--"this
is beyond my strength! today is the fourth day that I seem to be seething
in a kettle; I can no longer pretend that I notice nothing,--I cannot see
thee growing pale, withering away, weeping,--I cannot, I cannot!"
"Why, what is the matter with you, aunty?"--said Liza:--"I am all
right...."
"All right?"--exclaimed Marfa Timofeevna:--"tell that to others, but
not to me! All right! But who was it that was on her knees just now?
whose eyelashes are still wet with tears? All right! Why, look at
thyself, what hast thou done to thy face, what has become of thine
eyes?--All right! As though I did not know all!"
"It will pass off, aunty; give me time."
"It will pass off, but when? O Lord God, my Master! is it possible that
thou didst love him so? why, he is an old man, Lizotchka. Well, I do not
dispute that he is a good man, he does not bite; but what does that
signify? we are all good people: the world is large, there will always be
plenty of that sort."
"I tell you, that it will all pass off, it is all over already."
"Listen, Lizotchka, to what I have to say to thee,"--said Marfa
Timofeevna, suddenly, making Liza sit down beside her on the bed, and
adjusting now her hair, now her kerchief.--"It only seems to you, while
it is fresh, that your grief is beyond remedy. Ekh, my darling, for death
alone there is no remedy! Only say to thyself: 'I won't give in--so there
now!' and afterward thou wilt be amazed thyself--how soon, how well, it
will pass off. Only have patience."
"Aunty,"--replied Liza:--"it is already past, all is over already."
"Past--over--forsooth! Why, even thy little nose has grown pointed, and
thou sayest: 'It is over--it is over!'"
"Yes, it is over, aunty, if you will only help me,"--cried Liza, with
sudden animation, and threw herself on Marfa Timofeevna's neck.--"Dear
aunty, be my friend, help me; do not be angry, understand me."
"Why, what is this, what is this, my mother? Don't frighten me, please; I
shall scream in another minute; don't look at me like that: tell me
quickly what thou meanest?"
"I ... I want ..." Liza hid her face in Marfa Timofeevna's bosom.... "I
want to enter a convent,"--she said, in a dull tone.
The old woman fairly leaped on the bed.
"Cross thyself, my mother, Lizotchka; come to thy senses: God be with
thee, what dost thou mean?"--she stammered at last: "lie down, my
darling, sleep a little: this comes from lack of sleep, my dear."
Liza raised her head, her cheeks were burning.
"No, aunty,"--she articulated, "do not speak like that. I have made up my
mind, I have prayed, I have asked counsel of God; all is ended, my life
with you is ended. Such a lesson is not in vain; and it is not the first
time I have thought of this. Happiness was not suited to me; even when I
cherished hopes of happiness, my heart was always heavy. I know
everything, my own sins and the sins of others, and how papa acquired his
wealth; I know everything. All that must be atoned for by prayer--atoned
for by prayer. I am sorry for all of you--I am sorry for mamma, for
Lyenotchka; but there is no help for it; I feel that I cannot live here;
I have already taken leave of everything, I have made my reverence to
everything in the house for the last time; something is calling me hence;
I am weary; I want to shut myself up forever. Do not hold me back, do not
dissuade me; help me, or I will go away alone."
Marfa Timofeevna listened in terror to her niece.
"She is ill, she is raving,"--she thought:--"I must send for a doctor;
but for which? Gedeonovsky was praising some one the other day; he's
always lying,--but, perhaps, he told the truth that time." But when she
became convinced that Liza was not ill, and was not raving, when to all
her objections Liza steadfastly made one and the same reply, Marfa
Timofeevna became seriously frightened and grieved.--"But thou dost not
know, my darling,"--she began to try to prevail upon her;--"what sort of
a life they lead in convents! Why, my own one, they will feed thee with
green hemp-oil; they will put on thee coarse, awfully coarse linen; they
will make thee go about cold; thou canst not endure all that, Lizotchka.
All that is the traces of Agafya in thee; it was she who led thee
astray. Why, she began by living her life, living a gay life; do thou
live thy life also. Let me, at least, die in peace, and then do what thou
wilt. And who ever heard of any one going into a convent, all on account
of such a goat's beard--the Lord forgive me!--on account of a man? Come,
if thy heart is so heavy, go away on a journey, pray to a saint, have a
prayer-service said, but don't put the black cowl on thy head, my dear
little father, my dear little mother...."
And Marfa Timofeevna began to weep bitterly.
Liza comforted her, wiped away her tears, but remained inflexible. In her
despair, Marfa Timofeevna tried to resort to threats: she would tell
Liza's mother everything; but even that was of no avail. Only as a
concession to the old woman's urgent entreaties, did Liza consent to
defer the fulfilment of her intention for six months; in return, Marfa
Timofeevna was compelled to give her her word that she would help her,
and obtain the permission of Marya Dmitrievna if, at the end of six
months, she had not changed her mind.
* * * * *
With the advent of the first cold weather, Varvara Pavlovna, despite
her promise to shut herself up in the depths of the country, after
providing herself with money, removed to Petersburg, where she hired a
modest but pretty apartment, which had been found for her by Panshin,
who had quitted the Government of O * * * before her. During the
latter part of his sojourn in O * * * he had completely fallen out of
favour with Marya Dmitrievna; he had suddenly ceased to call upon her
and hardly ever quitted Lavriki. Varvara Pavlovna had enslaved him,
precisely that,--enslaved him; no other word will express her unlimited,
irrevocable, irresponsible power over him.
Lavretzky passed the winter in Moscow, but in the spring of the
following year the news reached him that Liza had entered the B * * *
convent, in one of the most remote corners of Russia.